


Balthazar's School of Hunting and Summoning

by MushroomDoggo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Multi, Young Castiel, Young Castiel/Young Dean Winchester, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-27 19:40:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2704142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MushroomDoggo/pseuds/MushroomDoggo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean have been brought up knowing that one day a letter will come to their door, a letter that will truly make them hunters. When the letter finally arrives, Sam isn't sure if he wants to go. But that's only the start of their troubles...</p>
<p>AU where those with magic powers are trained to be hunters at Hogwarts to stop the coming apocalypse.</p>
<p>Characters will be added as they appear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Letters

Waiting for the letter was the hardest part. It didn't come until you were around nineteen, now, because of the sheer number of kids who had died in training exercises. Getting that letter was like confirming your destiny, your place on Earth. Most kids didn't know they even existed until they arrived, but our father drilled it into our heads:

"The day that letter comes," he used to say, "is the day you become a hunter. And it's the day I stop taking care of you. If that letter doesn't come, you ain't welcome in this house anymore."

And so we waited. One day, my letter would come, and then Sammy's would roll in about a year later. It was a sure thing. We knew it in our bones.

Even so, that rainy summer evening was a godsend.

Cases thinned in the summer. Everyone moved out if their old, ghost-infested homes and into shiny new vacation homes. Homes where no one had died, homes where no great crimes had been committed, homes that demon's avoided because anyone who could rent one out for an entire summer was rich enough to buy whatever they wanted. They didn't need demon deals, they just shoved money at someone or another.

It was July of '99, and Sam and I were blowing off steam in a hotel room. Dad was away, off doing God knows what, but he'd left us with enough cash to rent what was supposed to be the most terrifying video game of all time: Silent Hill.

"Sam, if you're not gonna fight back, you're not gonna win, you dork," I told him, chuckling softly as he was killed again. 

"This isn't a cutscene?" Sam asked. His tone was somewhere between frustration and confusion.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and shook my head slowly. "Gimmie that."

"Hey!" Sam pulled the controller away from me. "Let me play, jerk!"

"You haven't pressed a single button, bitch! Let me do it!" 

The character moved spastically onscreen as Sam and I wrestled for the remote. I finally got it away from him, but the force of my grab caused it to fly across the room and hit a lamp.

The television made an odd sound, some kind of warbling beeping screech, and we watched as a bunch of aliens came down and abducted our protagonist. The credits rolled.

"What the hell?"

"Did he just get... Abducted?" Sam asked slowly.

I shook my head like a cartoon character. "Son of a bitch... "

"Dude, that was the worst game I've ever played!" Sam told me, starting to laugh.

"I can't believe I wasted my money on that..." I muttered, still frozen as the credits rolled past and stars wars-esque music played. 

Sam laughed hysterically. " What just happened? That literally resolved nothing!"

"The hell kind of ending was that?!" I demanded of the game. "Who ends something like that? What about the daughter? WHAT HAPPENED?!"

Sam just kept laughing. "I told you! I told you, we should've just gotten Street Fighters!"

I stuttered for a little while, trying to figure out how to properly express my anger. None of the game was worth it without a good ending. 

Sam's laughter faded to soundless spasms as he watched me silently move my lips in a sorry attempt to argue with the playstation. 

Sam was sixteen. I was twenty.

It was one year late for me, three years early for him.

As I tried to knock Sam out of his giggling fit with a pillow, I heard the mail slot slam open and shut. Between the slaps, the sound of pouring rain could be heard louder and sharper than the dulled version that battered on the roof. This particular weather drowned out any other sound.

I started towards the door, tossing the pillow over my shoulder in Sam’s direction. I heard the dull thud as he swatted it away, then a softer thud when it hit the floor, despite the volume of the rain. I think it was because, somewhere in the back of my mind and the pit of my stomach, I knew what was in that stack of mail. And I was never going to forget what this moment felt like.

As I picked up the letters, it occurred to me that this was a hotel, that no one knew we were here. It was then that I knew exactly what those letters were.

“Sam!” I shouted, “Sammy, get over here!” My hands actually shook as they held the plain, white envelopes.

Sam moaned as he stood, still trying to catch a breath. “What?” He was grinning ear-to-ear, his hair an absolute disaster from the brief wrestling match. Even with all he’d seen, his face was so young and innocent that day he may as well have been a different person.

“Mail?” Sam asked. He was just as confused as I had been. “Is it Dad, do you think?” He adjusted his t-shirt as he looked over my shoulder, pulling it down over his skin-and-bones torso to limit the billowing in the breeze from the drafty door.

We examined the addresses, concluding that the handwriting was much too neat to be Dad’s. Most interestingly, the addresses started with ‘left bed’ and ‘right bed,’ referring to our sleeping arrangements.

I turned the letters over, revealing the tiny seal on the point of the envelope. It was a pentagram, slightly warped into the shape of a shield. Below it, like the crossbones below a skull on a jolly roger, was a colt revolver and a serrated demon blade.

“Oh my…” Sam couldn’t even finish the phrase before tearing the letter out of my hand. “Are you serious?”

I smiled. “This is… this a letter from Balthazar’s, isn’t it?”

Sam did a little standing leap, ripping the envelope to shreds to access the contents. His voice sped up as he read the first sentence, “Dear Mister Samuel Winchester, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to... Balthazar’s School of... Hunting and Summoning? What?”

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“But… I applied to… to Stanford! Where’s my letter from Stanford?” Sam asked. He glanced quickly at the mail slot, looking for another letter.

I scoffed. “Sam, y-you’re sixteen. Stanford wasn’t going to send you an acceptance letter. Anyway, this is better!” I clapped his shoulder, but he just kept staring in saddened shock at the letter in his hands.

Sam sighed a bit. 

I ignored him for the time being, carrying the letter eagerly to the couch. I launched myself of the back of the harvest gold sofa, landing in a comfortable position for reading. 

“Dear Mister Dean Winchester,” I read out loud in my poshest voice, “We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Balthazar’s School of Hunting and Summoning. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on the first of September. We await your acceptance by no later than the thirty-first of July. Yours sincerely, Balthazar, Angel of the Lord.” I snickered a bit at the prissiness of the whole thing, all of the unnecessarily flowery language.

Sam came back into the room, not bothering to squeeze onto the couch with me but instead sitting on a nearby chair. 

I snorted once more, then stuffed my hand back into the envelope “Let’s see about this supply list.” I chuckled to myself as I read off the long list of weapons. “Sawed-off-- check. Serrated Demon blade/angelic blade (or stand-ins for practice)-- check. Empty rounds to be filled with salt (provided)-- check. Wand-- wand?”

Sam looked up. “Wand?” he repeated. “What kind of school is this?”

“Uh…” I looked down the list a little further. “Spell Theory, Banishments 101… Holy…” I muttered.

Sam pulled out his own list. “Students may wish to bring a ‘four-eyed’ dog or white wolf, a fairy, a unicorn, or a transforming familiar to aid in supernatural hunting drills.” Sam laughed. “Do you know where to find a unicorn? Just in case?”

I squinted at the paper, as though it would somehow reveal itself as a joke if I just stared at it long enough. “Are they serious?”

“Well,” Sam began, chuckling a bit, “it is called the school of ‘hunting and summoning.’ Do you think this is… I mean, do you think Dad didn’t actually go to this school?”

I opened my mouth to respond but quickly closed it. Dad had never actually said that he’d gone to Balthazar’s… he just spoke well of it. Was it possible that he knew literally nothing about it?

“Of course not,” I said, almost automatically. “Why would Dad lie? I’m sure he just… you know…” I sighed sharply. “We’re goin’ to this school, Sammy. It’s the best thing for us, both of us.”

“Don’t call me Sammy…” Sam spat. “And I’m not going. I’ve got another year of High school, then I’m going to Stanford.” He folded his arms over his chest, pouting like a three-year-old girl.

“Don’t be like that, Sam…” I whispered, almost to myself. I knew this was going to be a battle.

“No. No, I’m going to be exactly like that. I am done with this family, soon as I graduate.” As if to prove himself, Sam crumpled up the letter and tossed it into the wastebasket across the room.

“Come on. You know this letter didn’t come because of Dad!” I told him. I rocked up into a sitting position to better argue with Sam.

Sam scoffed. “How do you know that?!” he shouted, getting out of his seat.

I stood, as well, preparing to lay down the law. I was the older brother, and I was representing my Dad. There was no way my little brother was walking out under my watch. I always knew he’d been planning it… he was actually ready to pick up and go whenever, he just needed that last push.

I pointed harshly at Sam, clenching my jaw as I glared at him. “You know damn well this didn’t come ‘cause of Dad. I hope I don’t need to tell you why.”

“Oh, what is it, Dean?” Sam asked, suddenly sarcastic and snide, although I could still see the beginnings of tears in his eyes. “Magic?”

As soon as the word had left his mouth, something else was stuffed in it. It was literally that fast-- I didn’t see it fly across the room, I didn’t even hear it enter his mouth, but suddenly his letter was there, sticking out of his mouth like tissue paper out of a present bag.

I jumped back a bit, my sock-clad feet struggling to grip the hardwood floor, but as soon as the image processed I started to laugh. “I don’t know, man, I think it might be smoke and mirrors!”

Sam choked a bit, spitting the paper out on the floor. It leapt into the air, flattening itself as well as shaking off all the saliva, then floated gently back down in pristine condition. 

I laughed out loud, the sound slowly rising in pitch as I pointed at the letter and wrestled with the slippery wooden floors. “It’s not magic, just strings!”

“Shut up, man…” Sam chuckled, trying not to show it by combing his bangs down over his eyes. Of course, in his trademark fashion, as soon a sthe bangs were combed straight down and seemed to rest on his eyebrows, he’d flip them out of the way again.

“Wait, wait…” I stopped the barrage of insults, the laughing spell fading away. “Wait. Wait, holy shit! Ho--” I stuttered, pointing at the letter again. “Holy-- that just appeared in your mouth! That was-- that was--”

“Magic?” Sam suggested. He scowled at the paper, walking over to lift it gingerly, as though it were a bomb about to explode. “God, why does the universe like you to be right so much?”

I squinted a bit into the distance and let myself fall back onto the couch behind me. “Magic? H-how does that…” I ran a hand through my hair. “Oh, my God… and lemme guess: you still wanna leave for Stanford?”

Sam cleared his throat, yanking his jeans up onto his emaciated waist. “Um…” He sniffed, wiping a hand under his nose. “I’m gonna go… go get a pop from the vending machine…”

I stuttered, realizing too late that I had upset him. “Sam! I--”

The door banged shut, and I was left with my thoughts. Instead of sorting through them like a mature adult, I chose to growl and throw my own crumpled-up letter across the room.

I breathed heavily, trying to calm myself. 

One little push.

One little push, and I could lose Sammy forever. 

And I may have just given it to him.

A thought came to me. If the letter said stuff about magic existed, and I apparently had it… 

It was stupid, but at the same time it was freakin’ awesome. I stood up, taking a some kind of a karate stance with my palm thrusting forward, pointed right at the letter. I took a deep breath and imagined it floating towards me, eyes screwed shut.

“Holy mother of God…” muttered an unfamiliar voice.

I jumped, flying out of my stance and slipping. I hit the ground with a thud on my tailbone. “Ow! Son of a... bitch!” I screeched. 

“If this is the lot in life I’ve been given…” the voice sighed. “God help me…”

“Who the hell are you?” I demanded.

“Me? Who the hell are you? ‘Cause you ain’t Dean Winchester, that’s for sure!” the man shouted.

He was kind of old with a hillbilly-style beard-mustache-sideburn combo. On top of his grey-brown hair was a dirty, beat-up baseball cap. He wore a plaid flannel shirt with a puffy vest over it. Basically, he looked like he was trying to be a redneck but miserably failing.

I moaned a bit, feeling the pain in my bruised tailbone as I stood. “Am too! What do you want? H-how did you get in here?!”

The man gave me a strange look up and down, slightly-- no, very disgusted with me for reasons unknown. “You’re the vessel?”

“The hell is a vessel?” I asked, giving the man my best impression of his disturbed face. “Look, man-- you gotta get outta here before my Dad gets home, he’ll tear you to pieces.”

I started to lead the man out, but he refused. “John Winchester?”

“How did you--”

The man stuck out his hand. “Bobby Singer. You can, uh… call me uncle, if you like. Most of the students do.”

“Students?” I repeated.

Bobby jabbed the hand a little further forward. “Yeah. At the school. I’m here to pick you boys up.”

I continued to refrain from shaking his hand. “But…”

“Don’t worry. I’m here to pick you up because your Dad’s away. We’ll leave him a nice note, he’ll be fine,” Bobby explained. He still didn’t give up on that handshake. “That’s how things work at Balthazar’s.”

I glared at him, too confused and whiplashed from the day’s events to think of something clever to say. 

“Ain’t got all day, son….” he muttered, still giving the air periodic stabs with his hand, tempting me to shake it. “Know what? Where’s your brother?”

“Sam?” I chuckled. “Probably out of the state by now…” I decided this fake redneck wasn’t going to hurt me and flopped down on the couch.

“Huh?” Bobby asked, both confused and disappointed.

“Oh, yeah-- he would rather go to Stanford. Doesn’t want any of that magic crap…” I explained. “He likes to pretend that he doesn’t believe in it… even when someone does something right in front of his face. Like the letter trick I’m assuming you pulled.”

“Well, he’d better get believing… he doesn’t wanna deal with this onslaught on his own…” Bobby muttered cryptically, inspecting the honor bar. “And I didn’t pull any letter trick! I’m not allowed to use magic!”

I shrugged. “I guess it was cursed or something…”

“The letters don’t get cursed, idjit!” he shouted. “That was all you!”

I frowned at the television, not wanting to meet Bobby’s eyes after his ridiculous statement. “Wow. I’m so glad I have cliche grandpa redneck here to teach me the force…”

“It ain’t the force!” Bobby scolded, knocking the remote out of my hand. “It’s sorcery!”

I heard the door click open, but the amateur who hung it must have left it off balance. It squeaked and slammed against the drywall, leaving Sam standing in the huge frame, his own thin and lanky.

He stood for a minute, then pointed at Bobby. “Who is that?” he asked, already in hysterics.

“It’s Uncle Bobby. He’s here to ferry us away to the magical school in the clouds…” I mocked, chuckling to myself a bit. “Seriously, it’s like I’m on an acid trip…”

“How did he get here? Did you let him in? Why are you here?” Sam blurted.

“Sam, go sit down, please,” Bobby directed Sam to the nearby arm chair. 

Sam tiptoed over, afraid that the presence of ‘magic man’ had turned the hotel room into some kind of minefield. He flopped into the chair, pulling his feet up into a pretzel position, and asked his question again. “Why are you here?”

Bobby sighed lightly. “Because you two have been chosen. I’m taking you to the school.”

“But what is the school?” Sam demanded. “From those letters, it doesn’t sound like what our Dad told us at all…”

Bobby scoffed. “Well, your Dad never went to the school, so I’m not surprised,” he told us, more than a hint of disdain in his voice.

“Hey!” I interrupted. “Don’t you--”

“Shut up, jackass, and listen,” Bobby scolded lightly, waving me away. “The school is overseas. It used to be a school for those born with magical gifts, but with the apocalypse on the horizon we converted it. Now it’s an all-encompassing school for hunting, those with magic and without. Er…” Bobby stuck a hand in his vest. “Always forget the next part…”

I gave Sam a look, the two of us silently communicating that this guy wasn’t a threat, just someone we had to sit and listen to patiently. Not that we were happy to sit and listen rather than beat up senselessly, but it was a small sacrifice to make at this point.

“Anyway, the school will train you two to be proper hunters and to use your natural gifts of magic, et cetera, et cetera…” He motioned to the door like he was directing traffic. “Let’s go!” he whispered, eager to get us out.

But I was too busy laughing. “You can’t be serious. Magic? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve--”

“No one cares, Dean. Come on, truck’s still running in the parking lot.” Bobby started for the door again, thinking we would pick up and follow him.

“Really?” 

Bobby stopped at the sound of my voice. “Um… ‘really’ what?”

“You came here tell us we have magic powers and thought it would only take a few seconds, so you left your goddamn truck running in the parking lot?” I laughed. “What an idiot…”

Bobby stomped back into the room, pointing a harsh finger at me while completely ignoring Sam still curled up on the arm chair. “Listen to me. You wipe that smug little smile off your face and quit your cackling, because you two have been chosen. Most kids with powers like yours are left alone for one reason or another. Maybe they’re too weak to deal with the reality of the war, maybe they’re not that bright and can’t figure out whose side they’re on. But you two…”

Sam looked up at Bobby, suddenly interested.

“You two are special. Now, please, my battery is slowly dying in the parking lot, can I get you to the shipyard without any major catastrophes?” Bobby pointed out the window at a pickup truck with a rumbling engine. “Also, could scrawny sit in jackass’ lap?”


	2. Road Trip

Bobby swung easily into the driver’s seat, while Sam and I had packed ourselves into the passenger seat like sardines. Sam took the window, staring drearily out at the parking lot before we’d even pulled out. I watched as he shifted his position to mope more adequately, resting his chin on the tiny window sill and pressing his cheek against the cold glass.

“You know, I never actually said I wanted to go…” he muttered into the window.

“You’re going,” I told him softly, trying to make sure Bobby wouldn’t overhear. The grumbling sound of the engine and the squealing brakes certainly helped to cover it up.

Sam sighed, his warm breath fogging up the window. “I’ll come to the harbor, or whatever, but no promises I’m getting on that boat…”

“Whatever…” I responded.

Bobby cleared his throat and we both turned to him.

“So… I may have… lied to you a little bit. We aren’t going straight to the shipyard. There’s another place we gotta stop first…” Bobby flipped on his turn signal, trying to create excuses not to look right at us as he admitted to lying.

I shrugged. “You know, that’s okay ‘Uncle Bobby,’” I said disdainfully, “You just lied to get me and a minor into your shady pickup truck. No big deal.”

I heard Sam chuckle lightly.

“I am not afraid to choke you while driving, boy. Remember that,” Bobby scolded.

“Yessir…” I muttered with a hint of sarcasm Bobby didn’t pick up on.

He sighed. “Now, I’m taking you to a little market street a few towns away. It’s a good place for picking up the items on your list. In fact…” Bobby paused as he made a turn. “In fact, the student’s mall in Lebanon is geared toward Balthazar’s specifically. They’ll probably have some price deals for you boys.”

“Student’s mall?’ Sam repeated. “What’s that?”

Bobby sighed. “Well, using logic, one could surmise that it is a strip mall dedicated to students who go to Balthazar’s. Every year, you’ll get a new supply list, and you can stop at any one of the student malls in the country to buy what you need,” he explained, his tone changing from sarcastic and wry to kind as the explanation wore on.

“And there’s one in Lebanon?” I asked. My tone was jostled as I tried to find a position where I wasn’t being stabbed by Sam’s elbow.

“There’s hundreds in the US alone. Just gotta know where to find ‘em,” he said. ‘How ‘bout some music?”

He started to turn on the radio, but I stopped him. “I have some music with me.”

Bobby shrugged. “Sure thing, kid.”

I leaned forward to reach into my back pocket and whipped out a cassette tape. I pushed it into the player, the beginning chords of an ac/dc song starting up immediately.

Sam groaned.

“It’s gonna be a long ride…” Bobby muttered.

~~~~~

After five minutes or so, Sam’s pouting turned into a good natured battle of musical tastes with that involved everyone in the car. I had also found a package of beef jerky in the glove compartment, which seemed to instantly improve all of our moods.

“Well, I like Matchbox Twenty and Smashmouth. Oh, and Blink 182!” Sam told us excitedly. “Have you heard that song ‘All Star?’” He grinned just thinking about it.

“Blink 182?” I repeated. “That’s that fake rock band, right?”

“It isn’t fake!” Sam complained.

Bobby scoffed. “It ain’t fake, but it ain’t music. The Beatles. The Grateful Dead. That stuff’s the good stuff. Not this screaming crap…”

“Ac/dc isn’t a screamer band!” I shouted. “They have a… rough singing style, but there’s a tune! You can whistle it!”

“Oh, yeah? Whistle the tune to ‘back in black’ right now,” Sam dared me.

I stuttered. “W-well… I can’t whistle it… but other people can…”

“Wait, wait-- you can’t whistle?” Sam asked. He started to laugh. “Are you serious?”

I grumbled a bit to myself, then said “There are lots of things I can’t do. What matters is the stuff I can do! Which does not include magic!”

“Oh, boy…” Bobby sighed. “Back to this again. Listen, Dean: I know you don’t believe it now, but you’ll be spitting out spells in no time. You’re a pro in the making, you just don’t know it.”

“Oh, right. I’m a ‘vessel.’ Would you like to finally tell me what in the hell that means?” I demanded.

I felt Sam squirming away from me, trying to get himself out of the conversation, even though it was just the three of us in close quarters.

Bobby ignored the question again. “Look, kid: fact is, everyone out there is capable of working a little magic. It takes some more preparation for most folks than others, but anyone could work some rudimentary magic if they wanted to.”

“Than why can’t you do magic?” I asked. “You teach at the school, right? Then you must be able to do some magic. Let’s see some.”

Bobby was silent for a moment, focusing on dodging potholes in the back road he had taken. “I’m… not allowed.”

“Oh. Oh, not allowed. What, they tracking you?” I asked. “Got an ankle bracelet we should see?”

“No! I’m just… not very good at it, is all, and a few years back something… happened. It cost the school a lot of money,” Bobby explained, his hesitation interjected with shouts of frustration.

“What’d you do, collapse the roof?” I asked, a mouth full of jerky.

Bobby smacked his palm against the steering wheel. “No! I… I let a muggle see me do magic…”

“Muggle? What is that, some kind of dog? Like a mastiff-pug-poodle combo?” I asked.

“Ech…” Sam muttered, envisioning the strange breed. Suddenly, he was back in the conversation just because we were talking about dogs. He was like that. 

“No! It’s a person who doesn’t know about magic. Believe it or not, those people exist. I know you two were basically raised on it, but--” Bobby was cut off by a high-pitched blaring behind us. He winced a bit and glanced at the rearview mirror. 

I whirled in my seat to look over my shoulder. “Cops?”

“Well, I did pack you two into the front seat, which is technically illegal… oh, boy…” Bobby pulled the car over by the side of the road and carefully got out. He hunched over a little, trying to look non-threatening.

The cop’s car pulled in ahead of us, so we could see the whole thing play out.

The conversation was muffled through the car windows, but it went something like this:

“What seems to be the problem, officer?” Bobby asked.

“You got too many people in that front seat. I’m gonna have to give one of the boys a ride wherever it is you’re headed. And I gotta write you up.” The officer pulled out his ticket book, preparing a ticket by checking a few boxes. “Name?”

“Uh…” Bobby looked panicked. He glanced back at us for a moment, then put a hand on the officer’s shoulder. He was relatively close to the car, so we could still hear every one of his murmured words: “Officer, there’s no one else in that car.”

The police officer stared into Bobby’s face for a few seconds, then turned to look at the car. His pupils were extremely dilated and his mouth hung open a bit. 

“Oh, yeah…”

“You should get back in your car,” Bobby suggested, giving him a pat on the back.

“Okay…”

Bobby got back into the car silently, having seen the police officer to his vehicle and made sure he was far away. 

“Holy shit…” I murmured. “Did you just do that?”

Bobby turned the key in the ignition. “Don’t tell no one. I’m not supposed to use magic… but I couldn’t let them find the student’s mall...”

“Hand to God…” I agreed, just looking at the ratty guy in the seat beside me. “But, uh… could you teach me to do that?”

“That’s the point of the school, you idjit…” Bobby muttered. 

“They’ll teach me to do that?” I asked, trying to mask my excitement. I pointed to my brother. “And Sam?”

“They’ll teach you all kinds a’ magic! That’s the goddamn point of the school! Are your ears full of molasses?” Bobby demanded. It was kind of understandable, I suppose. He had said the exact same thing several times that day, but it was just now starting to sink in.

“So…” I drug the sound out, trying to think of some really great magical thing I’d love to be able to do.

“Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, Hunter’s History, Muggle History, Literature, Math, Self Defense, Zoology, and Flying,” Bobby rattled off a list of nearly meaningless subjects to me.

I paused, looking at the ratty man. “Huh?”

“Those are the classes first year students take. Which you both are!” he told us. Forcefully. “You boys got your letters at the same time, so you’ll share a lot of classes. That tends to happen at the school… the list changes every so often, and you two just appeared on a top-priority, so…”

“Top priority?” Sam repeated. “Why--”

“Wait, wait, wait,” I cut him off. “We get to learn to fly?”

The man was shaking his head very slightly now, grimacing as he stared straight ahead at the dirt road. “I shouldn’t have said anything… should have just waited… but yes!”

I laughed in pure joy, imagining myself soaring over a brick high school with a cape like superman (not that I would have admitted that to anyone).

I elbowed Sam. “Did you hear that? You don’t fly at Stanford!”

“But you still have to take math,” Sam pointed out grumpily. He nearly tacked ‘I’d rather take math at Stanford,’ onto the end of that thought, I could feel it, but decided better of it. He knew that I was aware of his true meaning.

“What’s the point of Stanford?” Bobby asked. I couldn’t decide whether he was asking out of curiosity or frustration.

“To work hard, get good grades, and lead a successful career?” Sam suggested in a deadpan. He’d come back with the same response every time I asked him the same question. 

“Right,” Bobby grinned. “But why do that… when you can work hard, get good grades, and lead an army against the forces of darkness?”

“Pfft.” Sam folded his arms over his chest. “To be normal. To not die before I hit twenty, maybe?”

Bobby groaned softly, gripping the steering wheel so tight that it squeaked in his slightly sweaty palms. “You will die if you don’t learn to protect yourself, Sam.”

Sam made a small sound of surprise. “Is that some kind of threat?”

“It’s the truth! I ain’t here to sugarcoat, I’m here to get you to go to this damn school! Now, before, I throttle you, can we buy your materials and get you to the shipyard? If you still have your little heart set on letting the whole school down, you can decide to give up at that point,” Bobby told Sam, not so much sugarcoating as souring Sam’s entire life outside of Balthazar’s.

With those words, Bobby turned onto a paved road, finally on the way back to civilization.

“Fine. Don’t think you can change my mind,” Sam whined, then turned to pout in silence out the window.

Bobby moaned a bit, as though he were on the verge of vomiting. “Teenagers…” he muttered.

The road into a small town at a shocking speed, the barren wilderness swiftly transforming into a run-down village. I couldn’t help but wonder where an entire strip mall could be hidden in a town that probably housed just over three hundred people. 

“So!” I broke the silence with the loud (and somehow sarcastic) word. “Where is this student’s mall thingie? I mean, is it invisible?”

“No, jackass. It’s underground,” Bobby explained. He slowed the truck to navigate the small streets, following some unknown directions in his head.

“Underground.” I nodded. “Of course. And how do we get to this underground back-to-school shopping mania? I assume a secret entrance of some kind? One that uses magic to break into?” I asked, my voice so heavily saturated by sarcasm I was starting to wonder whether or not I was serious.

“Bingo,” Bobby affirmed.

I sighed, frustrated that my remarks were getting zero attention. “Where is it?”

“The center,” Bobby said cryptically.

“Of… the town?” I guessed.

“Of the US. Most Americans would tell you the world, but… you know…” Bobby shrugged a bit. I watched as he followed the large, carved print on a billboard that proclaimed ‘center of the 48 states’ in block letters. 

“48 states, huh?” I commented wryly.

“Meaning not including Hawaii and Alaska,” Bobby explained. After the hour and a half’s ride, he was understandably exasperated. “And no more comments, wiseass.”

“Is it wise or jack, uncky? Gotta make up your mind.” I chuckled to myself.

“Don’t call me uncky. I ain’t afraid to hurt you, with or without magic,” he threatened with a deadpan.

I quickly realized I was getting nowhere with him and gave up.

Bobby pulled up to a large cube of slate, angled slightly to display a plaque. Most noticeably, the plaque had a raised outline of the US with a star at our current location, as well as matching stars at each of the four corners. The rest was irrelevant dates and names in small print.

The cube was pretty big, really, probably a little smaller than your typical cubicle, though not anywhere near that tall. Despite its size, it was not impressive. At all. Just a cheesy tourist trap to pull people off course so they’ll spend a night in this sad, little town.

Bobby did a quick scan of the area and shut off the car. “Alright, boys. Get out,” he instructed.

We scrambled out of the truck, pleased to be freed from the cramped space and the strange, unidentifiable smells. 

“So… what do we do to get in? Say some kind of spell?” I guessed. I couldn’t help but wander around a bit, wondering if I would smack into an invisible wall of some kind.

Bobby just rolled his eyes, marching up to the monument confidently and started to fool with the raised stars. Sam and I wandered over, each of us trying not to be interested for different reasons, and watched as Bobby performed a simple combination: the four stars in the corners, followed by the star in the middle. All he did was touch them, and a rumbling was heard deep within the Earth.

Sam and I adjusted our positions to better hold our balance, even though the ground wasn’t actually moving. It just sounded like it was. As we watched, the cube of stone slid away, revealing a surprisingly well-lit and nicely-kept stairwell that led down. Kind of like a subway entrance, but cleaner and with friendlier lighting.

“Voila. get in, I don’t got all day,” Bobby complained, but a smile played on his lips. He must’ve really loved showing off this trick.

“But… how come--” Sam started to ask some logistical question, probably something to do with how it actually moved or why muggles didn’t just open it and wander inside.

“Magic,” Bobby said simply. He directed us into the stairwell with two arms, like he was directing traffic. “After you.”


End file.
